ET go home
by Twinkie207
Summary: Finding yourself kilometers away from your home, even home continent, is getting quite popular these days. ET firmly disagrees. An Inca cemetery is no way to end up after a sleepless night. A cemetery resembling the one in an Indiana Jones movie. ET panics. ET promptly passes out in her black flip-flops. ET wakes up. "Okay Now we need to keep calm and carry on." WIP.
1. Just blink and then poof?

**Summary:**

Finding yourself kilometers away from your home, even home continent, is getting quite popular these days. E.T. firmly disagrees. An Inca cemetery is no way to end up after a sleepless night. A cemetery resembling the one in an Indiana Jones movie. E.T. panics. E.T. promptly passes out in her black flip-flops. E.T. wakes up. "Okay. Now we need to keep calm and carry on." WIP.

* * *

A/N: This will be a proper long story. That means at least 1.500 words per chapter and updated when I feel like it. I can estimate it will take a long time to finish, and there's a sequel planned too; only in another universe.

This story is centered on survival and getting "E.T. back home", spiced with my brand of sarcastic humor. No romance here. Only references and mentions of popular culture.

**Spoilers:** More and more with each chapter.

**Rating:** M, to play it safe. There will be violence, strong language and hints to murder. It's the jungle of Hawaii, people. People die in Hawaii. _That was a joke. (Does somebody understand why Hawaii? There's a cookie waiting.)_

* * *

**Prologue:**

A 24-year-old woman appears in Peru. Having blacked out a minute before, wearing daisy dukes, a black bikini, thin pinstriped sky blue and white cotton dress shirt and black flip-flops, she's bewildered at how she arrived at some Inca ruins, kilometers away from her home continent.

Blinking rapidly, she faintly recognizes them as the place where Harold Oxley found and later hid the crystal skull from the movie Indiana Jones 4. After that she promptly faints.

* * *

Oh no. No, no, no. See, this doesn't happen to people, and even if it somehow does, it certainly doesn't happen to me.

I was home gasping at the bullshitting summer heat, which got even a few extra degrees hotter, thanks to global warming, desperately trying to cool down my apartment.

It was night, 23:30, and the fucking concert still wouldn't shut up, seriously, there are people needing sleep and NOT getting it.

But now I'm not home. Instead I'm standing-no, my knees buckled, I'm on the ground-in some nondescript ancient Inca ruins which are looking suspiciously familiar in a fictitious kind of way.

The name of the movie in question I would rather not say out loud, lest this becomes a very real hallucinogenic mushroom nightmare.

"Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the crystal skull." Well, shit.

* * *

Okay, the grass is real. The stone is real. So are the smells, skeletons in walls and ferns.

The oppressive heat is shining down and the eardrum splitting pressure is getting to me.

I'm heaving as I descended down the stairs. It looks so real, feels so real, so, I gulped, to an empiric, it must be real.

I didn't want to consider all the other possibilities.

_/Go with the flow. /Sway with the breeze. Be a leaf. /_

I nodded to myself. Supplies, food, water, lighter, rope, backpack, knife, anything? No?

Don't panic, think. A way out of here. Where? Tourist routes? No, I don't know anything about that. The skull? YES! The skull's the answer! …Wait. Bad feeling.

I slowly turned around. Please, please, don't let it be them.

A skull covered tribe native met my from fear dilated pupils. I flinched and shot for the entrance.

Please, please, please, whatever brought me here, please. Lend me the luck to survive. War cries bellowed behind me.

I ran and ran, narrowly avoiding another native. Darts (poison!) missed me in a flurry and hit the wall beside me.

Mid-flight I picked up a rock and threw it behind, darted around again, reached for pottery and repeated the procedure, hitting one of the native warriors on the head and then shot for the corridors.

Crossroads! I chose left, slowed down, took off my flip-flops and threw them to the right.

The noise distracted them, and with the crossroads being murky and dimly lit, they lost sight of me.

Patter of my bare feet was much quieter, realizing this in a millisecond I lynched myself for being stupid.

I must have sounded as an anorexic elephant with hooves clopping in a cheap china store!

I hid inside an alcove and waited, terrified. Full of adrenaline, my heart was pumping into overdrive.

"Danger!" my senses shouted, I was so afraid, afraid they could hear it. Silent tears ran down my cheeks. I held the sobs inside, grimacing.

* * *

They searched for an eternity, it seemed. I pushed myself to be still, quiet, made myself smaller. I shut out the world, disconnected myself from my surroundings. I didn't want them to find me.

Finally, after what felt like hours, actually minutes, I resurfaced back. Slowly, slowly, still very much afraid, I looked around.

I listened. No one, silence. I sighed in relief. Now I could feel the dried tears on my cheeks, and mascara too.

Great, just great. The one time I gussy up for a summer bonfire, and I end up not mingling, but haunting the snack bar and grill, gulping down hot dogs and chicken wings with chili sauce, because no one wanted to dance with me.

My so-called friends who promised to show up, bailed, my ex-boyfriends who I prayed wouldn't show up, well, they showed up too, yep, all 7 of them.

That's why I tried to flee the scene unnoticed, but of course, at the back exit, queen plastic Lauren ambushed me. I ended up nodding and aha-ing to how terrible her miniature chihuahua is feeling, from hair dyes to glittery pink purses and fake nails… I was in hell.

And I'm pretty sure the great G.O.D. won't think twice about what I had done next, in fact, I think I might get praised.

The bonfire was in the woods, a part of which was used as a dumping site, so I pushed her into a manmade waste hole.

Come on, it was the only highlight of my day. I ended up home, trying to sleep, but as you know, the 1D concert wouldn't let me.

* * *

Back in the ruins I chuckled at my bad luck and retraced my steps, desperately trying to spot a decorated wall or a carving, anything that I remembered that was near the corridor to Orellana's tomb.

"This looks like the place." I muttered. Creepy Peruvian mummy with crawling scorpions, check. Shady hole in the wall, check.

Wiggling the fingers on my left hand, I mentally prepared myself. Sticking your hand into unknown holes isn't smart or healthy.

_/Depends on what kind of hole it is. / _Bad, bad mind. Sometimes I questioned the debauchery living in my mind. I plunged it in. _/That's what she said. /_ Stop it.

At last I felt the coarse rope's end. I clutched it firmly and pulled. It actually was a switch!

The hidden gateway opened and now I can make sense of adventure; finding a secret door is quite a thrill.

I crawled through on a plateau to the end; my weight lowered its side down and revealed the tomb.

"Yes!" I gave a small shout of victory. The resting place of Francesco Orellana and his men, conquistadors, searching for El Dorado, the fabled City of Gold. It looked just like in the movie.

I went to the side, to Orellana. His mummified corpse looked as dried up as my grandmother's tea leaves, and his ensemble looked worse for wear, but hey, it was expected.

He was older than all my grandfathers' fathers ages on my mother's side put together. Alright, stop insulting the dead guy, find the skull. If I remember, it would be behind him.

My bare toes brushed up the cold gold coins and I jumped away on instinct. Picking a few of them from the ground I marveled at the design.

Stepping closer, strange buzzing sounded and I felt the coins escape my palm, like a strong magnet was pulling them.

The skull's actually here! I smiled in relief. Worries bottled deep down inside me evaporated. What if it wasn't here? Maybe the movie already happened, or it hasn't happened at all.

But now I know the approximate timeline. Oxley found the skull, went to Akator- El Dorado, but couldn't figure it out the whole way, the skull commanded him to return it, and since he didn't know how to go forward he returned it here.

Orellana's shriveled up corpse confirmed it. In the movie when Indy opened another grave, the conquistador inside looked untouched but after a moment lost all his "life juices".

Orellana then already caught up to his age. I looked behind me. The sand covered floor housed footprints I neglected before; they weren't mine but Oxley's.

That's another piece of evidence. Now for the decider. I licked my lips, bared my teeth and pulled the greedy Francesco's body forward to expose the back area.

A quartz-like shinning skull greeted my sight. I laughed in joy.

Taking the skull in my arms I twirled around. Yes! Finally, something good! The gold coins that escaped my grasp were sticking to it. "I hope you're the answer." I said to it.

"Maybe you can send me back? To my time?" I sat down on the sand crossing my legs. "You know I'm not from here, right? Of course you do. You know a lot of things." I whispered.

Colour me loony for talking to an alien skull, but it was my ticket out of this hell hole and the first sentient thing not out to kill me. Well, semi-sentient thing or part of a sentient thing.

But what now? I just found it. It won't be able to help me in this state. It wants to go back to its friends, and it will reward those who return it.

Given that maybe, I was sent here for a purpose, or just for shits and giggles, either way, nothing is going to happen until the skull is back where it belongs. And that's Akator.

The place where we travel to in the movie, full of treacherous obstacles, flesh-eating ants, tribal natives sworn to protect it, the river with its dangerous falls, pits of death filled with spikes, wild jungle, oh, and how could I forget?- the goddamned Irina Spalko with her brigade of Soviet soldiers.

And all that is a long way away. Any hope I had of this being solvable without Indiana Jones poofed away. *POOF!*

Okay, you're smart, you have a good head on your shoulders, you're an A's student damn it.

Oxley still went mad from the skull and was locked up in a loony-bin in Peru. He spent months in it, before Irina kidnapped him, and that's roughly when Indiana Jones and "Mutt" Williams come in Peru to find Oxley.

Not long and they are here, in this cemetery. So, I'm looking at months or weeks, I don't know, of waiting. Then what? I waltz in, introduce myself to one of the most famous fictional explorers and hand him the skull, then beg to go with, to meet the aliens? Better than nothing.

But first things first, the skull isn't going anywhere without me, it's my bargaining chip, my lifeline.

So I need to make it so that the Jones figures it out that it used to be here. Hm. My proverbial light bulb lit up.

I took all of the gold coins lying around Orellana and put some in the back, where the skulls outline was visible in the leather skin that made the Inca sac-like burial graves and then lined a loopy trail of them, making sure it was noticeably artificial, so that even idiots would realize that something is up and follow it.

Good enough. Now I need to exit the chamber and once again retrace my steps. It's imperative for me to do so. After all, my life and my return depend on it.

My return. Oh the irony. Stuffing the rope end further inside the hole, the secret door closed.

I looked at the skull wrapped in a musky cloth I found, murmuring. "Ironic, isn't it? My return depends on your return. We both need to return to our home." It was silent. "Hey, if I'm going to be conversing with you, you need a name. Seriously, I can't call you it. That would reaffirm the similarity that I was talking to cutlery or any other inanimate object before and that is just silly. Not to mention insane." I rubbed its forehead, avoiding looking at its eyes. "Tim. For as long as I'm carrying you, your name shall be Tim."

Satisfied with the naming, I walked forward in thought.

The only way I would survive this is by planning, I need to remember all I can from the movie, and the details. The devil is in the details.

I need to leave this place, like I was never here. Kind of like a camping trip. Anything that doesn't belong in a creepy Inca cemetery shouldn't be here.

I was looking at my toes while thinking. My bare toes. My flip-flops. My flip-flops! Of course! I needed to find them.

Going through the corridors, I arrived at the crossroads. I threw them here, right?

Any natural light, save from the candles in dank crevices, was missing. It was as dark as the night. The sun already went down? Stupid, it was already dark!

I can't find my black flip-flops in the dark. I can't do it now. Tomorrow.

In this moment I started to feel the mental stress of survival. I was tired. Tomorrow.

Sighing again, now because of the lack of sleep, I went back to my hiding space; the alcove.

Cramming my body up there, and hugging the skull in front of me I stretched as far as I could. Luckily I'm quite short, measuring only 159cm in height. Yes. Tomorrow.

Slowly closing my eyes I thought. _I hope the bad guys need sleep as much as I do, otherwise I can't guarantee I'll wake up again._

* * *

Words: 2.154

Date completed: 23.7.2013


	2. Camping

A/N: In the next chapter she comes face to face with the characters. I also have a picture of E.T. that i drew myself. Should it be the stories cover?

(This will be a proper long story. That means at least 1.500 words per chapter and updated whenever I feel like it. I can estimate it will take a long time to finish, and there's a sequel planned too, only in another universe.)

Spoilers: More and more with each chapter.

* * *

Waking up in a stone alcove wasn't as uncomfortable as I thought it would be.

Granted I just survived a close encounter with death and weird science time-travel AND space-travel.

I also found out I'm trapped in Peru; a different continent, in an Inca cemetery, in a movie. And it's not a dream, it's damned scary.

You might think; what in the world are you moping about, it's a movie! Go find the main characters, follow them, fall in love with your crush, destroy the bad guy and live happily ever after!

I'm (not) sorry to say, I'm not a Mary-Sue. No rainbow eyes, platinum hair that keeps its hair-do even when you're running for your life, no light-year long name, no bloody music shows, no unicorns, no plastic, no Barbie-like body, thank the Lord.

I'm actually an Atheist, but when atrocities like Mary-Sues are involved, I'm pretty sure all the religious figures unite, and that there, somewhere; a Matrix styled glasses pot-smoking Jesus with a shotgun and a hell of a goatee is hunting all the monsters of bad fandom, with Shiva, Buda, Cthulhu, Spaghetti-monster, Odin, Ra, and all the other leaders of religions past and present.

I'm smiling now. Thoughts like these give me hope for peace.

* * *

I opened my eyes to reality. My arms were still clutching the skull, okay.

Looking out, I squeaked. A tribal native was staring at me! I shuddered and hugged the skull.

They found me. Was it over? I closed my eyes, expecting the end. But… It didn't come.

He was still staring. Bewildered, I met his eyes; he averted them and… bowed. I looked down, on the floor.

Was that fruit? And my flip-flops! With flowers around them, arranged like _an offering_. The skull wasn't covered. They could see it.

_Thank you, Tim. _It appears they do know what he is. Counting my lucky stars I sneaked another peek at the native, I recognized him.

He was the guy I hit with the pottery. And he looked younger too, not at all like Incan, more like Jaguar, from Apocalypto.

Or I could be hallucinating. All in all, a great looking guy. If only he wasn't trying to kill me. _Aw, isn't this cute?_

Inspecting the offering I slowly got out of the alcove. Jaguar stepped back. I put on my flip-flops and saw an ornate clay bowl with water inside.

He was still looking; _not_ at me, but _around_ me. Wary although curious. _I was most likely off-limits. _Tim was resting on the leather cloth in front of me.

I drank a little from the bowl, realizing I was thirsty. Then I dipped two fingers in and washed Tim. Wiping him clean with the cloth, I cared for him.

_Pretending to be a keeper of the skull might get me out of this alive and unharmed._ After that, I also washed my face of mascara, and smeared the leftovers around my eyes.

I must have looked like I was crying black tears to them. Which is a tad better and kind of cool than failed integration into a cutthroat society? I hope so.

I tasted the fruits, they were delicious! Eating them was pure heaven for my empty stomach. When I was done, I took Tim in my arms and held him tightly looking at Jaguar in question. What will he do now?

He bowed again; once, twice, and I almost melted inside.

Wait, what? What happened to the fear and nervousness? Hello, _native guy_ in front of you! The one who tried to _kill_ you! He _tried to_ kill me. _Tried_, is the key word. Alright, fine. But I'm still sharpening my baseball bat over here. You… go and do that. I will.

I snapped out of my inner conversation and cringed. He was staring at me like I was having an epileptic seizure. Which, I wasn't. No bright lights here, no weird ill feeling in my gut.

Yes, for the record, I am epileptic. And… out of medication. Great, fine. _Now_ I remember the important stuff. _Now_ is really not the time.

Losing a few more seconds criticizing myself, I look up to find Jaguar. He's gone.

A comic gust of wind blew at me. Abandoned, left all alone. Just like with boyfriend number 4, Jimmy Hotcakes.

He vanished into thin air after I invited him home for *_uh* coffee. _After telling him to wait in my room before I sneaked into the bathroom to change into my sexy underwear, because well, I didn't plan on it, I mean I had a plan, but it moved up schedule… Over think, damn it, over think! _Cool down._

I wrapped the paper-thin dress shirt tighter around my body because of the goose bumps and inhaled. Then exhaled. Okay. The coast should now be clear.

We need to get out of here and find Jones.

I wrapped Tim with the cloth and held him tightly in my arms, then inched out of the room and peaked left and right. It's clear.

Walking through the passage I browsed my mind for memory. What was the way out again? Getting lost is not good, not good at all.

A shout stirred me from thought. I slammed myself to the wall, ambling to the doorway.

"A scorpion just stung me!"

"Was it big?"

"Yes, it was fucking huge!"

"Good."

"Good? No, it's not good!"

I gave an inner cheer. Yes! It's them! Indiana Jones and his tag along Mutt Williams!

Oh wow. This just lifted a heavy load of complications I didn't know how to deal with. It could have been months before they even showed up in Peru!

Thank you, thank you. This has to be movie luck! You know, working for the sake of the plot? I mean how lucky it is that Jones survives a nuclear explosion by hiding in a lead laced fridge. Very lucky, because Myth busters proved it cannot be done in real life. I allowed myself to welcome it, I felt exhilarated, full of fire.

But, I can't show myself now. "Old man, I don't think that leads anywhere." I heard the plateau shifting.

I dared to go in, to listen to their conversation more closely. It had to go according to plan. If it doesn't, well, let's not think like that, okay? They needed to create a good impression of me.

"Look at him. This must be Francesco de Orellana himself!"

"These coins are in a line. They lead directly to him. Creepy."

"You're right. Strange. Could this be important?" _Yes. It is, follow it._

"Maybe it's from Ox?" Mutt's excited voice rang through the stale air.

"No, the riddle was the only clue; he must have hidden the skull here, but where?"

"Here, hold this."

"Let me see. Empty." _No, take them out._

"Well I'll be… It was here. But it's gone now." "Damn it! Mom, Ox, good ol' Ox!"

"No. Look around. Whoever took it, left all the valuable gold and antiques behind. Ordinary mercenaries and treasure hunters would have helped themselves to riches all around here and yet, the chamber is untouched."

"Footprints. Some of them were from Ox, no doubt. And, there's another set here! They're different and small. Like children's feet?"

I huffed. I am 24 years old, idiot. Reddening slightly from embarrassment, I remembered.

My height or lack of thereof always spurred comments from children, same with my feet. But I grew over it and I'm proud to say I didn't develop a Napoleonic complex_. _

_So, kids. If anyone tries to make fun of you because of small feet, tell them that women in China bound their children's feet to make them smaller, because it was in fashion for a really long time. Why don't you check on internet about it? _I still got asked these innocent questions in high school and twice in college.

You might inquire, but what if they weren't being nasty, but curious? In my time, I was the mature one, "wiser" beyond my age. Others were bloody monkeys with wrenches and their miniscule brains. I had to develop a hard shell to have any social contact with them. But I succeeded. Because it's life. And life is hard.

"Impossible. Perhaps a girl's foot could have made them. "

"So we're looking for a small woman, with tiny feet. Ugh. The coin trail still bothers me. Who would take their time to arrange them like that? They lead us to the skull's hiding place."

"Okay, so maybe whoever took it is a good guy, who tried to help Ox. This woman, girl; maybe she was his assistant, and when Ox landed in that asylum, she tried to return it herself. She anticipated you would help him too, and made the coin trail, so we could figure it out." Plan success! I tiptoed away, outside.

As I stepped my tiny foot in the light, I shielded my eyes, it burns! It burns!

The inner Nosferatu in me loathes sunlight.

I was more of a shade type person with 3 bottles of sunscreen factor over 9000 coated on my skin, than a fry in the cancerous sunlight of 40 degrees Celsius woman.

You may venture a guess, am I tan? No. My skin is pale like yoghurt, chalk, milk, rice and other white stuff. Or it used to be.

Now that I'm exercising regularly because of epilepsy (stronger bones equal less fractures when I fall down), I can honestly say that 8 kilometer runs in our park have made my complexion healthy.

I'm not a fitness nut or anything, but I can run 600 meters without gasping for my breath at the end like I lost my inhaler.

And I do not have asthma. Coupled with epilepsy, that would be just cruel.

And yes, my physical prowess, or rather work, made me instantly a candidate for the famous circle in high school.

Only a candidate though. I was still weird, awkward, asocial, scribble in notebook girl who had a seizure in front of the principal.

Some tried to make friends with me and failed. They were completely and utterly annoying, take Lauren for example.

She's the blonde plastic Barbie girl stereotype. Pretty much like that. I won't say she wasn't persistent and delusional, she was.

I was impressed by it, and her loyalty, hell; she hadn't left me alone since the first day in high school.

Not like a stalker, more a genuinely good person, covered in spray paint and every product advertised to help women reach the beauty of models, with enough money from her daddy to buy half the city their own BMW, unaware of middle class/frugal poor people who I hailed from.

God, I'm seriously considering giving her a chance now, since she wasn't… that bad. When she wasn't talking about glittery hot pink tutus for Chihuahuas.

I'll have to think about that. When I get home. **If** I get home? No. **When** I get home.

Filled with courage and resolution I marched forward. Nothing could stop me. I was invincible. Sharp pain in my gut. Oh god. I have to pee!

* * *

Words: 1.854

Date completed: 1.8.2013


	3. The ride

A/N:

I took a break for about a month. No worries, the story will get updated.

**Spoilers:** More and more with each chapter.

* * *

**Before:**

_Filled with courage and resolution I marched forward. Nothing could stop me. I was invincible. Sharp pain in my gut. Oh god. I have to pee!_

* * *

Right. Hats off to Eddie Izzard, my one true comedian, for he predicted what happened next.

After availing myself in some sharp fern bushes, a walk away outside of the dreaded cemetery, because Nature calls at most inopportune times, I confirmed that Izzard was right.

Nature calls when it shouldn't have any business to call.

And as we all know, its tickets for five-star outhouses, with golden lavatory seats, deep burgundy Victorian drapes, golden trimming and lush cushioned back rests, are selling like hotcakes. I however, was not informed. I missed that sale. My behind won't be thanking me anytime soon. And neither will my heart.

I almost stomped back like a prissy princess, silently complaining of no toilet paper, when I heard the gunshots.

My rational genius mind took over, along with fear and self-preservation. I hugged a tree's trunk faster than a sloth, which wasn't record-breaking at all, and tuned into chaos.

In the ruins I could see soldiers with rifles. It might have been smarter to devise another plan for uniting with Jones, or picking a hiding spot and staying there, and yet…

I only almost peed myself. My bladder was empty, but that didn't stop it from releasing a bit of leftover drops.

My heart started pumping more and more blood. Adrenaline again filled my veins, I entered the flight or fight state.

I crouched and took cover under the ferns leaning a bit to the side of the tree. The gunshots stopped. I hesitantly surveyed the view.

In my brain two sides were battling for dominance. They still haven't reached a consensus.

The left waved white flags and yelled: flee! On the other hand, the right growled and stomped its feet in unison, preparing for the onslaught.

I was in favor of running away, flight. I just about hightailed it out of there, when I heard another POP! POP! POP! And this time I saw who they shot.

I gulped and my insides clenched. Feeling sick I prayed I was wrong.

Down on the ground was _not_ Jaguar. I unwillingly stepped closer to the edge of the forest.

Now I noticed in hindsight the other bodies, but my attention was on Jaguar. _No. God, no._ And then cut.

* * *

A hesitant but persisting shake woke me from stupor. I inclined my head rapidly blinking my eyes. The picture adjusted from blurry to semi-acceptable. We were moving, driving. I shifted around to see us tied in the back of a terrain vehicle. Us?

"Hey, girl. You okay?"

Fast jerk of the neck to left, my eyes widened like saucers. Shia LaBeouf's face was boring in mine, too close. _To close._ I shuddered and somehow crawled away backwards shaking my head.

"Watch it!" I hissed at the teenager.

Across us Indiana Jones laughed. I took it as an affront.

"Well, what was I supposed to do? He was almost trying to suck faces with me, that's too damn close for comfort!" I snapped to the explorer, trying to justify my behavior.

"I wasn't…" Shia look-alike stuttered.

"Back up!" I snarled like an evil freezer bunny.

The hormonal teen retracted stunned. I took a few breaths to calm down.

"Where are we going?" I asked watching the famous archaeologist.

Harrison Ford, age really caught up with you. But that didn't overshadow the awesomeness of meeting your face. He chuckled, no doubt at the shitty attempt of concern/flirting from Mutt.

"To their base." He answered.

"Who's base? And what did I do before..." I trailed off.

"You don't remember?" Flashes of horror and Jaguar clouded my sight. I bit my lip.

"I'm not trained to handle murder and corpses. It's lost…" I answered softly. Emotion bubbled up threatening to spill on the surface, I suppressed it.

Detached: that's how I respond to tragedy. A small sympathy look from the Jones had little effect on placating me, but it was nonetheless appreciated. He gave me the rundown.

"The soldiers from KGB surrounded us as we exited the ruins. Boyo here and I had to surrender. They were looking for a crystal skull. They believed we had it. We didn't. Just as it was about to get worse, you started walking slowly toward us." Shia joined in.

"Yeah. You ran to a dead guy-"I cringed. " and took off your blouse to wrap his injuries. One of them noticed you and shouted. You pulled out the skull from your back and yelled. Stop! I have it! Don't hurt them! Then they tied us up and threw us in here."

"Oh." I couldn't say more.

"How very stupid of me." I whispered and then shook my head, angry at the weak morals I was displaying.

"No. They would have shot you, if I didn't. No skull is worth more than life_." O rly? You're a saint now? _

Jones nodded impressed. "Many would disagree."

I smiled cheekily and replied. "So would I, if I had _common _sense."

* * *

The lightness of the conversation baffled me. Why was I cracking jokes and ignoring the slaughter that happened before? In the next hours I mulled it over, coming to a horrendous realization.

Things were silent. Nothing except the military pickups growling and driving: sometimes erratically, but mostly at a good pace.

At times we were thrown around, as it passed a pothole or a bump.

My back slammed repeatedly on the sides, igniting the long forgotten sore bruises. They pulsed rhythmically at half second intervals.

I knew. I counted them, trying to distract myself from the truth looming over my impaired judgment.

The reaction to Shia look-alike's face was expected.

Pushing aside the important stuff, ignoring the big picture and picking at the ridiculous tiny trivial matters was a way of coping. I had to cope first and cry later.

And when you wake up from the dark, a Shia in your face was pretty damned unnerving.

Also, what was with the trailing off? I was most certainly not at Kirsten Stewart's level of wiping emotion off my face. I had my doses of staring off vacantly, an empty expression completing the faraway scrutinizing brainstorming of some weird girl wandering off Earth and into the clouds.

But I snapped back in my body quickly when they begin to wave their hands in front of my view space. No worries now. I was safely turned away from Mutt.

The flashes of memory were another alarm ringing bells. Far too movie drama right there.

In the movie it's shown so you can perceive their emotion, suffering. In my case I felt like a cheap actress in a B-list movie.

I had no reason to do so. Even now I was aware of the turning stomach feeling, and goose bumps.

I knew _bad happened_. I had knowledge of _what happened._ I just wasn't _ready to accept_ that it happened. In front of my eyes, the eyes of an innocent.

I don't consider myself tough, maybe resilient. I have always had that stubborn streak in my DNA.

Not competing for the last scraps of bacon on the floor stubbornness. Mine was a more subtle type of never giving up and at times tearing apart your body in the process.

As a student I of course had to step up in managing my appearance. Before, I didn't give two shits about shaving my legs and armpits.

Body hair was there for a reason and I had no intentions of conforming to ideals of the modern society.

Soon I learned the hard way that all teens around me were childish and will certainly point their fingers and laugh at me, mock me.

All because I didn't see why would chemicals, balms, conditioner and other beauty products make me ''better'' looking.

To whom? For what purpose?

To see her family is rich if she can afford being caked up in shit?

After the mockery and teasing I broke down at home. I told my mother what happened and we both agreed that I can start shaving.

So when it's summer, I shave. But when it's winter, fuck no; I need all the little hairs to keep warm.

Through my little tribulations I caught up with the brainwork of a ''normal'' young girl, and I can honestly say that grooming yourself is not bad.

Feeling your silky smooth legs is heaven. I still however draw the line _waaay_ before Lauren.

The stubbornness helped. When it's time to take action and defend right from wrong and obtuse, I'm leading the charge and not giving a shit.

I was as scrappy as a homeless cat. I was not dying or ceasing anytime soon. At least until my 28th birthday.

Then I could reevaluate where I stood in the world and if it would continue to throw kitchen sinks at me, or slow down and take it easy.

On the other hand strong-will can be a danger to your existence too.

Epilepsy is a neurological disorder characterized by seizures. There are many types of seizures.

As a child I often had ''staring spells'' - stop what you're doing, stare vacantly for a few moments and then carry on as nothing happened. They're called absence seizures. My mother thought I would grow out of it, but it only got worse.

Partial seizures: they involve only half of the brain receiving abnormal electrical impulses. That's shaking limbs, convulsions, jerking heads, sometimes hallucinations.

You're often aware what's going on. Or you might not be, and people around you think you're creepy or nervous when fumbling with your sleeves and muttering things or swaying slightly, when your brain just happened to have a- Lights out! - moment. Remember when I mentioned me seizing in front of the principal?

That was the product of me refusing to take my medication to prove I was stable and sane to an idiot who happened to be my boyfriend number 5.

Desperately trying to keep my man, he wouldn't date a ''crazy'', he explained, I lasted about 2 days and seven hours without anything major. My epilepsy wasn't a severe and cutthroat, take no prisoners, kind. But it was a backstabbing witch.

Trembling hands, swaying and inability to focus started after a day and a half without the right medicine, two if I was lucky.

Fumbling fingers and light, barely noticeable, twitches were a constant. That leaves us with seven hours. Seven is a magical number, right? Obviously not in my case.

I managed to keep myself straight and presentable that morning and went about my routine.

Go to toilet, brush teeth, brush hair, splash water in my face, dress up and hurry down to the kitchen for breakfast.

Lock the front door and sprint to the bus stop, commute, arrive at the hell hole and do my time.

Around the fifth period I began to feel uneasy. It was a special feeling reserved for predicting major lockdowns of my brain.

An aura, a sense of foreboding. Soon the pain in my collarbone blossomed.

The principal entered our classroom. He was handing out awards… or commendations? It was my turn, and I stepped up to the podium.

As soon as my shaky left foot touched the wooden parquet I convulsed and started shaking like a possessed person.

I crumpled down on the floor, unable to break my fall. My limbs weren't listening to me, the pain was blinding, hot white, and I couldn't do anything, much less be aware of what happened.

Out like a light.

Having a seizure is not cool. There is nothing funny about not being in control of your own body.

It's demeaning and debasing, humiliating. My self-esteem takes a nosedive; embarrassment and disgrace swirl around your mind and nearly consume you.

Especially with audience: you're socially destroyed. If I can't control my body, what am I worth?

Issues and issues that drill into your confidence and reasoning, almost making me a nervous wreck. Dignity, what corner did they back you in?

I learned to breathe during stressful situations. Just breathe. And flip the birdie. _Fuck you, epilepsy. I'm conquering you. You're my bitch now. _And with time it gets better.

* * *

"Hey. You cold? You're shivering." Concerned Shia surprised me. I jumped.

"Wh-what?" I stumbled, wide-eyed, turning to face him.

He was right. I was shivering. Goose bumps spread along my limbs and torso like an infection.

I rubbed my arms, curling up, taking notice. I was practically naked.

Daisy dukes and black bikini top. Wonderful, they told you you took off your blouse to tend to…, but did you file it?

No. Of course not. You were too busy being overwhelmed by sheer trauma.

"C-c-can y-you…" Chattering teeth, it's like your body is in Antarctica, Jesus.

"Lend her your jacket, boy!"

"No talking!" A Russian voice shouts.

Struggle. More angry Russian shouting.

"Mac! He just wants to give her his jacket. She's freezing!"

"Are you joking Jonesy? It's summer, we're in the jungle!"

"See for yourself!"

"Shit. Alright. But no funny business or we're throwing her out! Untie her first, then the kid. Put it on and zip it tight. Don't try anything, I'm warning you. "

Shivering in the fetal position in the back of a military vehicle, just perfect.

Cold, worn hands of a soldier grasped my aching wrists. I flinched and shook.

The touch was firm and dispassionate, soulless. Merely a drone, how much of you has been cut out?

Soon they stretched my hands and dressed me like a wooden mannequin. They zipped the jacket up and I hugged myself.

The jacket was too big and smelled of real leather.

The cold hands pulled mine together and again tied me up with rope.

I didn't resist, too busy being cold. Not because it was freezing. Because of the dread.

No medication, no pills, no pharmacy. Captured, in the middle of nowhere. And the shakes had only just begun.

* * *

I concentrated to my breathing. Breathing calmed me. It was stationary; it won't change for a long time. A constant in the turbulence.

"Do you feel better?" The shivering gradually subsided. I was only trembling once a few 15 seconds. I knew. I timed it, avoiding confrontation.

"A b-bit. Better. Thank you." I nodded to the teen. _Liar._

He laughed quietly, relieved. "That's good. My name's Mutt. Mutt Williams."

I turned to Harrison Ford. "Indiana Jones."

"And you?" I smiled hesitantly. All the courage and at ease feeling I had before was gone. I was pent-up, frustrated, worried.

"Call me E.T. My friends do." You don't have any idea how much kick they get out of it.

I have two friends. Sunshine and Tazz.

"Eh, pleased to meet you." And we're in Awkward-Ville again.

I nodded. "Likewise." And once again turned silent.

I was a liar. I was not feeling better. _This was just the calm before the storm._

* * *

Words: 2.471

Date completed: 18.9.2013


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